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"We're all just walking each other home." - - Ram Dass







Wednesday, March 6, 2013

The Day I Knew My Calling


I grew under the shade of other people’s callings – my daddy’s to be a preacher, my brother’s to be a musician. The church around me bestowed gifts on its members, a topic of casual conversation and deep conviction. And still, I remained to myself almost 30 years, without calling; afraid of getting my calling wrong, of limiting myself, but mainly of failure.

An introvert in an extrovert world, I seemed to lack the outward hot passion in those that surrounded me. Withdrawing into my stories, I devoured words and penned my own. I stood on the hills of Tara beside Scarlett, hands and back aching with labor in the fields, the smell of the fire that consumed Atlanta seeped deep in my skin. I felt the soft fur brush upon my cheek, heard the snow crunch as I stepped from the wardrobe into Narnia, and lamented with Anne Shirley the fate of flame-red hair.

These characters, these stories became a part of how I viewed the world. They shaped my understanding that behind the headlines, history lessons, and artifacts of time were a host of real lives, personal stories that painted a picture fuller and deeper than what we were taught by just looking at statistics.

Until a year ago, I kept these lessons inside, exploring instead all the ways I thought I should be gifted. It has taken a year to unfurl what has always been a part of me: the need to be engrossed in the telling of humanity, the need to mark the world with my words, until I found myself fully claimed.
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Join me over at Emily's for the rest of the story for Imperfect Prose?  Join us HERE.

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